Justice
by Condolezza Ribeiro
Summary: [L Story] 'We know what the moral law is, but most of us choose to break it. Sometimes, it couldn’t be helped. We live in a world of imperfection. And we orphans are a living proof of this imperfection.' How did he become the world's greatest detective?
1. Encounter

_**A/N: **__My first Death Note fic. Not sure yet about the timeline, but I'll start off in post-DN-series, specifically starting from our beloved L's admission in the Wammy House. Hope you enjoy yourselves. Reviews are not really necessary, but such will be greatly appreciated._

_**- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
Chapter One  
**- Encounter -  
**- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - **_

There was a soft knock at the door.

Roger looked up from the stack of papers he was peering over for the last three hours just in time to see his office door open without waiting for his reply.

"Ah," he said in his steady voice, recognizing his early morning guest. "Good Morning, _Watari_."

Of course, Watari isn't the real name of the old, bespectacled man in a thick black coat who had crossed the threshold of his office. And it's not like that Roger was any different from him either.

His name, the way he sat in his chair, even this tedious job he was doing; all of them are part of this lifetime façade. In the Wammy House, everything is hidden beneath a cloak of disguise.

He waited until Watari had closed the door and settled himself in the squashy chair before his desk. "So?"

"It's raining outside," Watari said softly.

"Is it?" Roger's study is windowless. Light came from the latest neon light technology attached on each corner of the square room. An air conditioning unit stood near the door, humming dully. Almost the entire wall behind Roger was cluttered with books, except for one corner where a rickety side table held a vase of almost wilted dandelions and a small heap of mails.

"Naturally," Watari said, and then there was silence, save by the AC's low humming.

Roger shifted in his seat. "So…is _he _here?"

Watari chuckled. "Of course he is. He's currently heading towards his first class."

"Ah." Roger blinked. "I can sense a great deal of potential in the boy, Watari, with what you've been telling. Where did you find him again?"

"In England."

Roger didn't reply immediately. Then: "I see. The boy's pseudonym?"

"L."

Another short pause.

"Do you still want a briefing with him?" Watari asked, in a manner as though he was asking if Roger wanted to have a cup of tea.

Roger smiled. "No need. I think you already said to him everything that I would have."

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"L? That's your name?"

The messy-haired boy nodded and stared at the kid unblinkingly. "You, who are you?"

The kid, a mousy-haired boy with bright blue eyes, grinned, revealing a few missing teeth. "Khai. The name's Khai." He bent closer and added in a low whisper, "You know your true name?"

L continued to stare at Khai observantly. "We're not supposed to say that aloud, are we?"

"Yeah," Khai said offhandedly. "But most of the people here doesn't know it. Just look over there—" He pointed at a girl sitting in the far corner of the room, who was chewing on a strand of her rag doll's hair "—That's Cain. She couldn't remember anything before she ended up here."

L slowly turned his gaze on little Cain. "A traumatic experience must have affected her nervous system. Her eyes were always unfocused, she likes the dark, and she loves to bite anything in hand—if not, her own nails. Am I correct?"

"Pretty yes," said Khai, mildly amused at L's sudden conclusion. Well, many people in this freaky orphanage were no different. "Listen, classes here will start, like, in five minutes. And I think we'll be classmates in Logic—the first period. Should I lead the way?"

L finally looked away from Cain to look at Khai blankly. "Sure."

When they entered the class for Intermediate Age Bracket (that is, children aged from eight years old through twelve), the orphans barely spared L a second glance, too much engrossed in their own little world.

L took the desk on Khai's left. He immediately kicked off his battered old sneakers and rested his feet on his chair, hugging his knees. Khai looked mildly surprised, but he didn't say anything.

"Good morning."

A tweedy woman entered the classroom at last, her high blood-red heels clicking noisily against the off-white stone floor. Her dark hair was tied up in a tight bun behind her back, and her eyes resembled that of a hawk's.

"I heard," she said in an audible, stern voice, "that there is a new boy in this class." She scanned the faces of the students minutely and finally found L's wide eyes.

"I'm L. I just came hours ago," L said without much enthusiasm, but the teacher seemed contented with the short introduction.

"I hope good participation, Mr. L," she said, in a very intimidating manner, that anybody wouldn't be surprised if she added, "or else you're dead."

Logic class has a span of two hours. Today, each student was given a couple of complex I.Q.-tester-like puzzles, to be solved in a given time limit.

"The test will be a basis for your Acceleration Examinations this coming spring," the hawk-eyed teacher said, before signaling the start of the test.

But only fifteen minutes had passed (one-fourths of the allotted time) when a pale hand shot through the air.

The teacher looked up from her record book to see L, sucking his thumb while his other hand was languidly raised up.

"I'm done."

The rest of the day wore off in the same manner how days wear off in this large cathedral-like orphanage called as Wammy House, except that, by evening, there were faint murmurs among the people—kids and adults alike—about the impressive performance of the newest orphan around: L.

"That Columbus paper in History was great, L," Khai said, as they headed to the dormitories. They walked along identical, plain halls lined with doors. "And how you solved that problem in Algebra."

L didn't say anything. People only respond in compliments out of politeness. And he thought in an institution like this, politeness doesn't count that much.

They turned to another hallway and Khai stopped at room number 0034.

"My room's over here, 0034," he said, opening the said door. "See yah tomorrow!"

L watched until the door closed again, before digging his hands deep in his faded jeans' pockets and shuffling away. _If I do see him again._

Life in Wammy House, despite all the weird inhumanly intelligent children it housed, was so monotonous that almost the very same thing happened each passing day. L had always found a good spot in a plump chair near the fireplace in the foyer, chewing his thumb while his other elbow rested on his knees. No one seemed to notice him—in fact, it appeared like every child isn't aware of each other's presence even if you put them side by side. You would see small groups here and there, but still, individuality reigned.

And, as what L's intuition had predicted, he hadn't seen Khai ever since he first met him on his first day. And that was almost two weeks ago.

The thing is, Khai isn't the only one missing. There were others in his class, too, and even the little girl named Cain was nowhere to be seen.

L wondered about the sudden disappearances of a few children since the past week. Do they usually transfer dormitories monthly, quarterly? Is this orphanage like the normal orphanage, whose primary purpose is to give out the likes of them to childless couples? He didn't think so.

One thing is that all the children around here, if someone hadn't noticed, possess beyond normal intellectual capacity. The place was heavily guarded too. And the most suspicious thing was that, much opposite to the normal orphanage, which usually had tad age-old facilities, the Wammy House is far more advanced in technology than half of the world, and everyone hid their true name with a code given out by the Wammy authority.

L bit harder on his thumb. Something, something…this Wammy House _is _something more than "an institution which protects the welfare of rare gifted orphans." Surely they would not have gone as far as sending agents all over the world just to seek genius orphans? They have quite some great financial backup if that's the case.

Then somebody cleared his throat from behind L.

"I suppose you are the new one?" a boy, who looked no older than fifteen, said, once L turned around to look at him. "L?"

L didn't say anything, and the boy took that as a yes. His beetle-black eyes reflected a large amount of ego, though thankfully it was not clouded enough for you to still sense a fair amount of intelligence behind them. He had wispy, ash-blonde hair and lots and lots of freckles.

"You noticed the disappearances, I see," he said in a low voice. Like L, his clothes were too shabby. A loose faded brown shirt and shorts that looked like they weren't ironed for years.

"Who wouldn't have?" L replied in a much lower voice. He wasn't surprised that he figured that out; from the moment he laid his eyes on this particular boy he had seen the way he read a person's mind by analyzing their face.

"You're right." He grinned. "Who would have not. Referring to this lot, specifically." He spread his arms to indicate all the children present.

There was a short pause.

L spoke. "What do you want?"

The boy remained standing calmly, almost lazily, his penetrating eyes roving around L's face for detection of who knows what. "I'm Dan."

"The answer to my question, please."

Dan's grin widened. It wasn't kind, nor was it mocking. "We'll skip the foreplay, then. I wanted to break this smoothly to you, but you were asking for it." He half-shrugged. "Come with me."

"You already know that I'm going to ask you why." Young L stared hard at the older Dan.

"Roger wants to see us. He's the Head of the Wammy House," he added swiftly, interpreting L's look. "He wants a word. Follow me."

Since they started off to Roger's office, there hasn't been any word exchange from L and Dan. The first set of corridors were known to L, until they reached the fourth floor and Dan led him in front of an innocent broom cupboard, which when was opened, revealed another identical corridor that led ahead.

If L was surprised, his face didn't show it.

The only difference of this hidden corridor from the ones on the other side of the cupboard was that instead of doors, it was lined with niches engraved on the walls, displaying a variety of objects from behind clear glasses. The first set of objects were an ancient brass gun and a thing that looked remarkably like a desk lamp, only that the bulb was missing and was replaced with a large dangling charm-like thing. The rest were mostly artifacts. When they were deeper in the corridor, though, the artifacts became numerous plaques and golden badges and awards. For who and for what, L hadn't had the chance to know, for they were walking in a pretty fast pace.

"Spies and intruders nowadays think too practically," Dan began, his voice bouncing off the walls. "They would not think that an institution like the Wammy House would still use secret, non-computer-monitored secret passages like the one we just went through."

L blinked slowly. "This place feels more like a secret military base than an orphanage to me." He was expecting some reaction from Dan with his seemingly innocent remark.

Dan merely smiled at this, and they came into a halt at the very end of the corridor, facing a tall mahogany door with a golden handle. For a moment, nobody spoke.

"Come in," a voice suddenly said from inside the door, even if no one did as much as knock.

_Almost undetectable cameras, _L concluded. _And scanners, I see, _he added as an afterthought, as he caught a glimpse of laser when Dan stepped forward and opened the door.

He followed the older boy inside, and if a while ago he was able to hide his surprise behind his unfathomable mask, this time it didn't work out anymore. His already wide eyes widened even more and his mouth fell slightly open the moment he saw the aging man sitting behind a handsome desk, his fingers interlocked with each other in front of him as he watched them enter with deep-set eyes.

"A good thing to see you again," Roger said smilingly. "_L_."

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_**A/N: **__Hope you liked it. Thanks again._


	2. Wammy's House

_Itsi-bitsy Note: Thanks for the helpful reviews, minna-san. Sorry for the late update. Thank you, __The WRITER and her CRAFT__, for encouraging me all the way. :)_

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**-: Chapter Two :-  
**_-- Wammy's House --  
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Dan looked from L to Roger, then did it again, as if watching a tennis rally. There was a very uncomfortable silence in the room, where his two other companions were locked in a very intense staring match. After another moment of awkwardness, he decided to shatter the quiet by coughing at his fist.

And it was effective; Roger looked at him distractedly, while L blinked back to his senses.

"So, um, you know each other?" Dan clarified.

L turned to him and frowned heavily, but did not say anything. It was Roger who replied.

"In a way," he said, in his usual mysterious air. "But he had known me not as the Head of Wammy's House, but as a—"

"Innocent old neighbor," L finished with distaste. He was clearly mad at something. "At least, that's what you've been telling me whenever I asked you."

"So you knew all along, am I correct? My true identity?" Roger said to L smilingly. "As expected."

"This Wammy's House is actually a secret organization, isn't it?" L said in a very low voice. "Nobody outside this orphanage knew where or even what it was, and when I searched in the web, there were no results—_except_, of sites profiling a certain man named Quillsh Wammy." He paused to let the words sink in.

Dan's mouth was slightly open. "But how _can_ you access the internet? You're only eight years old and only those thirteen and above are allowed to use the computer. Unless—" he narrowed his eyes "—you used one _without permission_?"

L had perched himself on a chair in front of Roger's desk, his knees brushing his chin. His owlish eyes pierced into Dan's half-revolting face. "You can say that," he said matter-of-factly.

"And you let him?" Dan said, more incredulously, this time to Roger. "Everybody knows how tight security here is."

Roger's smile widened. "Oh, but sometimes it can't be helped that some would be able to slip in."

Dan looked like he was biting back a retort. He breathed deeply. "How did you know each other?"

It was a moment before anyone said anything. Finally, Roger said, "I used to work somewhere in England before I came here. I happened to live…ahh…across L's former residence."

Dan found the fact that L had a former _permanent _residence more shocking than the fact that Roger had a life before he became the Head of Wammy's House. "…L's former residence?" He looked at the shorter boy beside him and searched his face for any reaction. Even if he could interpret some of his movements, he still found him particularly hard to read. "You're with your family?"

L didn't reply as usual.

"Most of us here in Wammy's House just wake up and find ourselves as street children," Dan continued, as if just stating that day's weather. "In some cases, they were so deeply traumatized by whatever past they had that they end up amnesiac or mildly off their rocker." He shrugged. "It's just…_weird_, to know someone here knew who his real family were." He finished somewhat lamely.

Roger's expression was almost understanding. "Ahh…I get your point, Dan. But you are very much mistaken: L wasn't living with his family." He paused, catching L's eye, silently asking if he could continue sharing what he knew was something personal for the young boy.

Expectedly, L didn't like where the conversation was going, so he glared at Roger. "You called for us?" he said pointedly, changing the topic.

Lucky for him, Dan and Roger respected his privacy and obeyed him. "Yes, I did," Roger said.

There was a short pause.

"Well?" Dan said impatiently. It was obvious that Roger was buying as much time as possible.

L had to admit he was beginning to lose his cool, too. For two weeks he wondered endlessly of the mystery that was the Wammy's House, and he wasn't used being kept in the dark that long at all. It was disappointing to realize that he still couldn't put the pieces together. "How long do you still want to stall, Mr. Roger?" he asked monotonously.

Roger chuckled, but his face quickly reverted back to its exhausted, serious look once it died out. "Now I shall entertain questions from you, L, before I state your purpose. Blow it." He suddenly looked a bit grim.

"What is this Wammy's House? Where does it get all the great financial backup? Why of all orphans, they choose to admit ones like us? And why do people keep disappearing?" L said without pausing to breathe. "I _have _a right to know."

"Of course you have," Roger said. "Nobody said you don't." He sighed and rested his chin on his interlocked hands. "The Wammy's House as what was stated to you is an institute that aims for proper care and protection of welfare towards intellectually-gifted orphans. However," he quickly chimed in, seeing L's attempt of interruption, "you are right, L. This is more than that. Are you familiar with Quillsh Wammy's achievements?"

There was a short pause, before L said, "He is an inventor and had made many contributions to both the EU and USA, and he is the founder of Wammy's House."

Roger nodded. "But did you know that he had worked for FBI and CIA as a tactician and spy? That he is one of the masterminds of the investigation of the most celebrated cases?" He stared at L, who had taken into biting his thumb again. "And what was the reason why he established Wammy's House in the first place?" He grinned, more to himself than to anybody else.

Dan rolled his eyes. It seemed that he already knew what Roger was saying. "Quillsh Wammy is developing children that he hoped would be of use to various organizations in the future," he said. "Or, if not, to succeed him. For him, this job is better for those who don't have any living blood relatives, so that they wouldn't give grief to them or sometimes so that no one can be used against them. And orphans, the rejected people, are most fit to it, because of the sad fact that no one will get hurt when they die; no one's waiting for them anyway."

"Well said, Dan."

"Cheers."

"Wammy's House is connected to various government agencies throughout the world," Roger continued. "Because of Quillsh Wammy."

L's scowl deepened. "So this institution is supported by the government?"

"In a way," Roger said. "This is still a private property, thus we generally get our funds from Quillsh Wammy himself, but we do receive ample donations from the government."

"And by _ample donations_, he meant the up-to-date technology that was supposed to be solely for the military," Dan piped up.

"In exchange," Roger said, "we send out some of our lot to different military bases to be of service. And that explains the disappearances of some of the children here."

There was a short pause.

"So where was Khai assigned?" L asked, finally.

Roger blinked. "Khai? Let's see…" He thought for a while. "Ah. He's in Russia right now, housed and trained by the Russian Federal Space Agency. Your friend has an exceptional talent in rocketry, L."

_He's not a friend, _L thought, and restrained himself from saying it aloud.

Another moment of silence ensued, where everyone was lost in their own thoughts. L's train of thoughts was running in the speed of light. _If that's the case, the reason why we're called here is…_

As though he had read his mind, Roger suddenly said, "I guess we'll get down to business, shall we?"

Dan raised his hands in mock celebration. "_Finally._"

"You might have guessed it already," Roger said. "But I'll still say it anyway." He smiled, and this time, it was warm and fatherly. "I offer my congratulations. In six moths' time, both of you will be meeting up with Quillsh Wammy to talk about which agency you will be most fitted to be in."

o x o x o x o x o

L was sitting on his bed in the awkward position he preferred, his dark wide eyes boring on the high ceiling of the plain room. He had this quarter all for himself, even if another bed was positioned across his, patiently waiting for his never-coming roommate. The walls were white and solid; L even thought it was sound-proof. A desk stood against the wall across his right; it was heavily loaded with one-foot stacks of papers. Other than that, the large closet, a bedside table that was between the two beds (which held a lamp, a cordless phone, and some paper and pen), a wall clock, and Venetian blinds next to the unoccupied bed, the room was void of anything. It was neat and organized-looking though; the AC unit hummed lowly from a corner.

It had been three days since that encounter with Roger. The moment he and Dan went back to the foyer, which was some sort of hang-out for the Wammy children, the others seem not to notice them, though L distinctly saw some of them give them short glances, and some unnoticeably follow their progress out of the corners of their eyes. They must have known, he had concluded, what had transpired.

Suddenly, the speaker, which was fixed at the farthest corner up against the ceiling, crackled into life, and a female voice rang throughout the room, bringing L back to his senses. "Dinner will be served in ten minutes. Children, please proceed to the dining hall immediately." She told the same statement again, and L didn't wait for her to finish and hopped onto his feet, slipping in his sneakers and lumbering out of the room.

Once he reached the buffet table he immediately went to the desserts and sweets corner, and practically raided all the mousse cakes that were that evening's dish. He paused when he felt someone stop short behind him. He looked back, and noncommittally took a step backward.

It was Madame Crane, the chief chef. She was a beefy woman always seen wearing a horrible pink apron, like right now. Her sharp eyes were eyeing L testily.

"You shouldn't eat all of those, boy," she said in a booming voice. "The cakes are divided evenly among all the children. One could only have until two slices. And I see you've got _eight._"

"But I didn't get from the Main Course table," L said defensively, peering up at the woman. "That should make up for it."

Madame Crane blinked, mildly surprised at being answered back by a child. "Too much sweet is no good," she said, nevertheless. "Continue like that and you'll die of diabetes in two years. Now be a nice boy and eat proper food." She made to grab the cakes, but L suddenly scooted away from her, wearing an indignant face.

"Cakes are delicious," he said coldly. "What makes them improper food?"

"It's improper because you haven't eaten anything else yet!" Madame Crane screeched, and it gained the attention of those nearby.

"What's the difference?" L retorted, and stepped farther when Madame Crane stepped forward. "I'm not eating grass, if that's what you want me to do." He pointed an accusing finger to the appetizers table, where they served Caesar Salad.

Madame Crane closed her eyes, as if praying for more patience, and in a quick movement launched forward and grabbed L's shoulder. Being a large woman, she was able to keep him in place using one hand, while her other one confiscated L's cakes. L fought, but still lost in the end.

Madame Crane clicked her tongue as she leaned back, all cakes in her arms. "What you need is discipline, kid. Look at you! We don't want outsiders having misconceptions as to how we treat children here, do we?" With that, she walked away.

L balled his fists. In frustration, he stomped his foot and stiffly walked back to his room, head bowed and hands deep in his pockets. He was murmuring words that sounded like empty threats, and not until he had left the dining hall that he angrily gripped his dark, messy hair and said out loud, "_I want my cake back!_"

At the same time, in a dark room where countless monitors showed every corner of the Wammy's House, Watari, who was sitting and watching the particular screen which showed L whining about his confiscated cakes, chortled amiably.

"At least I can tell that he's really only a child," he said to himself, before sipping on his lemon tea.

o x o x o x o x o

_Thanks for reaching this part. Please feel free dropping a review—I deeply appreciate them :)_


	3. He will be Justice & He will be His  Foe

_Note: Thank you all for the positive feedbacks. Actually, I have nothing to say here, but these notes are sort of a habit :) Btw, title of this fic can be subjected to change, since I just chose 'Justice' because I can't think of anything else at the moment. If you have suggestions, please tell it to me. Thanks again._

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Chapter Three  
**-: He will be Justice, and He will be His Foe :-**

o o o o o o o o o o o o

Though he was fully aware of it, L was still slightly amused that it had been already a month since he entered the Wammy's House. Days in the orphanage were monotonous despite the unusual milieu, but one could get used to it, he guessed. And slowly, he began to get comfortable with his companions, even if he never really had a sincere conversation with them.

It turned out that not all the orphans had extraordinary intelligence; most of them possess only above-average IQ, but they make up with talents in other fields like sports and visual arts.

And among the academic achievers, L was the one who stood out the most.

"With a score of three hundred and twenty percent, L got the highest score in this class," Mr. Gutter, the Science teacher, announced that Friday morning.

L carefully stood and walked in front to receive his paper. He held his paper in a very weird fashion: with only his thumb and index finger, as if it was a very disgusting object. He held everything in that manner. He climbed back to his seat (with his feet drawn up to the chair) and stared unblinkingly at Mr. Gutter as he called out other names.

Another weird behavior of the children of Wammy's House was most of them are nocturnal—more active at night than day. Facilitators often had a very hard time controlling the bedtime hours of the Wammy children; the poor people would diligently check each room at night, only to find out empty beds. They would search the grounds until everyone's found, then lead them back to their rooms.

So, with everyone busy, it was always so easy to sneak into L's room carrying a tray of tea and confectionaries.

L, who was sitting on his bed, lowered his book (which he held with his thumb and index finger) to scrutinize the tray which was laden beside him. Then he gave a small, childish smile. "Thank you, Lili."

Lili smiled. "No problem." Of all the facilitators it was Lili who had taken care of L. She understood his unusual appetite and would sneak in sweets at night, when Madame Crane wouldn't see them.

There was a short pause.

"I have news for you, L," Lili said suddenly.

"What is it?" L said, putting down _Clinical Psychology _and starting with a heavily frosted cake.

Lili breathed deeply, then brightened up. "You're finally going to have a roommate!" she said dramatically. "Isn't it great?"

L slowly looked up from his cake to Lili and frowned slightly. "There's a new orphan?"

Lili nodded eagerly. "He's coming in three days." But she slightly frowned at L's far-from-happy look. "Why, L? Is something wrong?"

L had finished the first cake with immense speed and was already on his second one when he said, "Nothing in particular. I was enjoying my privacy here."

"Having a roommate isn't so bad. What do you know, you might meet a friend in the form of your new roommate," Lili said encouragingly.

L paused to think about it. "…Friends? I am not that inclined in socializing." He ate his cake with obvious enthusiasm. "Anyhow, I hope he will be a least a cooperative person."

But he didn't know how very wrong he was.

♥ **Three days later** ♥

It was a dark, Monday morning when L went down for breakfast. As usual, everyone minded their own business, and for L it was a good thing: the Wammy's House is the only place in the world where one could find solitude even among a huge crowd. He saw Madame Crane's form beside the sweets corner, her eyes looking out for certain messy-haired boy with huge, panda-like eyes that might have the guts to sneak away more sweets than necessary. He scowled in distaste. _I'll be forced to eat rabbit-food again._

Indeed, a moment later, he found himself sitting alone in one corner of a long table in the dining hall, staring down at a small bowl of apple-flavored oatmeal. He meticulously raised his spoon and scooped up the oatmeal, then let it fall back to the bowl with a sticky _splat._ He scrunched his face. Disgusting.

"Hey, it's bad to play with your food."

L turned around to the source of the voice, and met the round, electric blue eyes of a girl who looked like no older than seven. She was looking at him indignantly with her hands on her hips.

"Are you talking to me?" L said monotonously, taking in the girl's features.

"Yes, I am." She rolled her eyes. "I didn't know that children here are this _nasty._ The way they dress, the way they talk—no _good_ conduct at all!"

"You're new here," L said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"So what if I am? What's that got to do with your improper behavior?" she snapped.

L scratched his head lightly. "I don't see any sense at all with what you are saying, little girl. A person's good moral isn't seen in the way he wore his clothes or the way he ate." His dark eyes pierced into the girl's blue ones. "Things that you say as etiquettes only existed so that man can pride himself higher than those who had the misfortune to belong to a ground lower than him."

The girl gaped at him for a moment, before huffing haughtily. "I don't know what you're talking about, but it's clear that you do not understand me!"

"Maybe yes," L said detachedly. "Since you are still new here, you still won't understand what I am talking about. Here, it didn't matter where you came from; everyone stood on the same ground. Everyone was given the chance to do as they like, which the world outside this place doesn't offer to relics like myself. Things like etiquettes are subjective to one's eyes. They vary with the person, so everyone here is free to express their own view of things, as long as it would not go beyond moral norms.

"Therefore, I have _every _right to wear the clothes I like, and to treat my food in any way, and you have _no _right to tell me off."

He didn't expect the girl to have any intelligent remark about this, or even understand what he said. That was why he was surprised with her reply.

"As long as you wouldn't go beyond moral norms?" she said, flaring up. "How can anyone tell what the moral norms are? They are only made by men—_us_. If you're saying that we're all equal here and we follow our own will, doesn't following norms created by _other_ men count as following someone else's orders, too?"

L almost smiled at this. He was admittedly mistaken about this girl. "You're quite forgetting something, little girl," he said, now interested to hold this conversation. "Moral norms are not established by man; rather, they are established _within _man. It is what makes us worthy to be called humans. Unlike other living forms, which only rely on sheer instincts, we have a conscience to tell us which is right and which is wrong. Therefore, a human will always know about these norms, whether they are civilized or not, regardless of their upbringing. We all have the same view of morality."

The girl scowled. "Then how can you explain what's happening out there? If everyone knew about morality, then it should not have been this cruel." She paused. "If everyone knew morality, we shouldn't be standing here, with no one else to run to," she finished weakly.

It was a moment before L spoke once more.

"We know what morality is," he said, subconsciously biting his thumb once again. "But most of us choose to break it. Sometimes, it couldn't be helped; we live in a world of imperfection. And we orphans are a living proof of this imperfection."

The following pause was the longest one so far since their little debate started. L continued to scrutinize the girl's face, while she stared right back at him with hard eyes.

"Then that's the big question, isn't it?" she said, finally. Her eyes softened a bit, and L thought that they looked close to tears. "Did we just exist to become relics and proof of how foul the world is?"

"No."

She stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

"I myself do not believe that I existed to be just like that, at least," L said. "If you think that's the only reason why you're here, then that's the only worth you'll ever be. People like us, stowaways gifted with a talent, are people who can balance this unfair world." He smiled a small smile at the girl before turning his back to her and facing his now cold oatmeal. "I, for one, wished to do such."

The girl continued to stare at his back, deep in thought. Come to think of it, all of it started with her little comment about the way he treated the oatmeal. No matter how she thought of it, she still couldn't link oatmeal to morality. Nevertheless, she inwardly smiled. She knew she lost the argument. This boy seemed to be really smart.

She opened her mouth to say something, but before any sound came from her, another voice had interrupted.

"Do you really think you could be _that _great?"

The girl distractedly looked at the owner of the voice, who was sitting a good three seats away from L, and gasped. The sound made L look up to the speaker, too.

It was a boy who he also never saw before. His dark hair was cut short, and his equally dark eyes were hard and menacing. His clothes were no less faded and worn than L's, and his papery skin looked very pale against them. He was staring right at _him_.

"You, who thinks he's smart enough to talk about things like morality inside an institution like this?" the boy continued, in a harsh voice. "If changing the world would be that easy, then it should have been resolved a long time ago."

"People lacked the drive to change," L replied, observing the boy. So many new faces. "Many would have the same goal as me, only that they do not have the ability to achieve it. Others have the ability, but didn't have the initiative. Now that I think I have both, it wouldn't be bad if I pursue it, am I correct?"

The boy smirked. "Did you hear what he said, C?"

At this, the girl squeaked and looked away. L ever so curiously looked at her, then back to the boy. "You know each other?"

The boy laughed mirthlessly. "That girl is my young sister, C. If you think you're that _capable _of pursuing this…what? Are you talking about justice?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," L said. "I _am _going to achieve _Justice_."

"Then I would like to see that," the boy said challengingly. "I would like to see you do it."

It was one of the rare times that L had smiled very genuinely. He was definitely going to accept his challenge. "My name is L, and I am going to show you that I can be justice."

The boy eyed him mockingly. "Then I, B, shall be your greatest enemy, L."

And that was how L Lawliet met his greatest nemesis, the boy he had known as _B_—Beyond Birthday.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o

_For those who didn't know, B (Beyond Birthday) is not an OC. He is present in the Death Note novel 'BB Case,' which is the story of the BB Los Angeles Serial Killings Case L solved two years before the Kira Case with help from Naomi Misora, Raye Penbar's fiancée. Doesn't ring any bells yet? No? Oh well. Anyway, B also grew up in the Wammy's House, and, if we'll compare it, L and B's relationship is almost the same as Near and Mello's. Just a little trivia._

_This is all thanks to The WRITER and her CRAFT's suggestion._

_Hope you liked it. – Condolezza _


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